Don't Call Me Baby (Unless You Mean It)
by Kate McK
Summary: Based on a prompt from @darveyfics. Harvey, Donna and Rachel take Mike to Las Vegas to celebrate his birthday, and a little too much champagne leads to "a legal complication".
1. Prologue

**DON** **'** **T CALL ME BABY (UNLESS YOU MEAN IT)**

 **A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day! And welcome to the first installment of this oddly named fic. Blame Ed Sheeran and his song, Dive.

Just a few things before you get going. This is based on a prompt submitted to **darveyfics** on Tumblr. I've noticed a similar plot on the FF feed earlier today, with a different pairing, but I haven't clicked on it, so I can honestly say that any similarities are pure coincidence. There's nothing new under the sun, right?

A big thank you to **michaelfmx** for tirelessly fixing my grammar, making suggestions, asking questions, and generally encouraging me to write. Also to **quistie64,** my favorite librarian and romance writer, for the words of advice. And to **Spectographer** for going over the chapter as well.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Suits. Please don't sue. I never finished Law School, and don't have Mike's brain. I also borrowed a few lines from Laws of Attraction.

* * *

 **Timeline:** This fic is set in season 3, and this prologue is set right after Endgame, and will follow canon from Bad Faith onwards, with a major plot twist.

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

Donna carefully pries an eyelid open and shuts it again fast when a harsh sunbeam shoots right in, awaking an encore performance by an out of sync bongo drummer band between her temples. When the thumping tapers off slightly, she swallows, desperate to lubricate her dry throat. Her mouth tastes evil and she swears her teeth are cramping. She's a giant ache from her knees to her forehead. Rolling over to her side, she groans as she curls into herself and pulls the duvet over her head.

"I'm never drinking champagne again."

"Don't say things you don't mean."

Her eyes snap open and, though the goose feathers dim the natural light, she regrets the action immediately when her surroundings come into focus.

Harvey Specter is laid out in front of her – in all his naked glory.

She doesn't need to take stock of herself to confirm that the silk draped against her skin is all sheets.

"Oh shit." She slides out of bed, taking the covers with her. The throbbing in her head increases tenfold when the world is suddenly brighter again. Peering through one eye, she locates the remote control on the nightstand and hits the button to close the drapes. The runners scrape against the metal rail like a freight train on rusty tracks and she holds her breath, not daring to add to the noise.

"Donna, what the hell?" Harvey grabs one of her pillows and covers himself, flinching before making the necessary adjustments to get comfortable.

And that's when she sees it.

"Holy shit."

He smirks at her from his position against the headboard, his hair sticking up at odd angles like it had been raked through and tugged at. Vigorously. "Is that a good holy shit or a bad holy –"

"Look at your left hand."

She watches him as he does what he's been told, turning his hand in front of his face to inspect the ring from both angles, his expression sobering. Then he looks up at her, his gaze landing on her chest. Instinctively she clutches the bedding tighter.

"You have one too," he says.

Her heart pounds in rhythm with her head when she glances down, spotting the gold band on her finger. She already knows the answer, but asks anyway, "Harvey, did we get married last night?"

"That seems to be what the evidence suggests."

"And we…" She finishes the thought by waiving a hand between them. The lace bra hanging from the lampshade on his side of the bed is another obvious clue, but her brain is stubbornly refusing to put the pieces together.

"It's fuzzy, but I remember…" He trails off, searching the area in his immediate vicinity. Spotting what he's looking for, he leans over to grab something from the floor, inadvertently exposing a side-cheek. Her eyes dart away, and fall on the shiny object he's holding, similar to the one she keeps in her top desk drawer.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I never joke about the can opener."

Donna's face flushes when his comment triggers a very vivid memory. Her stomach starts to flutter, and it quickly turns violent, causing her whole body to shake.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

He frowns at her, but she misses it when she sheds the duvet, clinging to the sheet as she rushes to the nearest bathroom.

Harvey is beside her moments later, clad in his boxers. Without a word he gathers her hair, lifting the strands from her face as she empties the contents of her stomach down the toilet bowl. She tries to wave him away, mortified that he is seeing her like this, but he ignores the gesture and drops a hand to her back, rubbing soothing circles across her exposed skin as he waits for her to finish. When she finally straightens with a shuddering breath, he reaches around her to push the flush button. He gets up and returns with a wet washcloth. She takes it from him and wipes her mouth.

"Better?" he asks.

She nods, despite the acrid aftertaste in her mouth threatening to trigger a second round. Keeping track of him in her peripheral vision, she notices him turn away again and rummage through the cabinet over the sink. He finds a bottle of mouthwash, twists off the cap and hands it to her. She takes a big mouthful, swirls, gargles, and spits into the bowl beside her before passing it back blindly, refusing to look at him now that he's borne witness to one of the most intimate unpleasantnesses a person could endure.

"Donna."

She curses inwardly. After more than a decade, he is still capable of melting her resolve so easily with the way he says her name. She glances up at him, surprised that he doesn't seem fazed by what just happened. Then she remembers that he picks up women at bars quite often. She wills her mind not to go there.

"Why are you not a mess?"

"I've had a lot more practice than you."

She rolls her eyes at him. It hurts. "Please. I can drink you under the table."

"Maybe that's what I've led you to believe."

With a disbelieving snort she pushes to her feet on shaky legs. She reaches for the basin to balance herself, but then the sheet starts to slip and, before she can decide whether it's better to be bared, or sprawled across the floor, Harvey is at her side again, steadying her with a hand under her elbow and one low on her back. She really needs to find some clothes, she thinks, because he's touching her too much, and it's difficult to keep her wits about her when her skin is on fire and her insides feel like they're liquefying under his intense gaze.

"Maybe I've led you to believe a lot of things."

For a moment she's sure she misheard him, his voice so low she wouldn't have caught the comment had he not been standing so close to her. She opens and closes her mouth, at a loss for how to respond, but he's already retreating, taking a step backwards as his hands drop to his sides.

"Will you be okay in here by yourself?"

She nods, ignoring the hot pulse making its way down her spine as he gives her a once over, then watches him leave. It's what he does, and for once she doesn't feel the need to call him on it. What she does need is a shower and a chance to clear her head so she can try to make sense of their predicament, but despite her best intentions, she finds her voice again when he's almost out the door.

"Harvey?"

He stops and turns, his expression a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

"Thank you."

His bare chest rises and falls with a deep breath, momentarily distracting her. "Anytime, Donna."

* * *

When Harvey hears her turn the shower on, he pads to the other bathroom. A glance at the clock confirms that they have about an hour before Mike and Rachel are due to arrive for the private breakfast that Donna arranged for them, at Mike's insistence, before they all head back to New York. Harvey suspects the kid just doesn't want the pool table in their Penthouse Suite to go to waste, but he's happy to indulge him. The main reason for the impromptu trip was to celebrate Mike's birthday – his first since his grandmother died.

He makes quick work of his hygiene routine, a little put out by the fact that he has to use the products supplied by the hotel, as his are in the bathroom Donna is currently occupying. The Palazzo doesn't skimp on quality, but drawing the line at using products not recommended by his personal stylist, he runs his fingers through his towel-dried hair, taming it the best he can. Dressed in clean boxers and a robe, he makes his way back to his bedroom.

The shower in the _en suite_ is still running. He welcomes the reprieve from the conversation with Donna he knows they can't avoid, but at the same time he's anxious to get it over with. For the moment, all he can do is distract himself by picking up the clothes they discarded the night before. He tries hard to concentrate on the task and not dwell on what led up to the evidentiary trail between the door and the bed, but when he holds up the midnight blue dress, he distinctly remembers the moment Donna stepped out of her room, ready for their night on the Strip. The Versace number that poured over her curves, ending just below her knee, was enough to make his mouth go dry. That was until he spotted the hemline slit and his heart nearly stopped. The memory of sliding his hand up said slit, tracing the smooth skin of her thigh, flashes through his mind, and he starts reciting the fundamental principles of civil procedure to get himself under control. He crosses the room to hang the dress in the closet next to his suit. He leaves their shoes by the door, side by side, and gathers his shirt and Donna's underwear, piling it up on the chair in the corner.

The door to the bathroom opens just as he grabs the can opener, half hidden under a pillow, and he jams it in his pocket before sinking down onto the foot of the bed. Donna emerges, her wet hair hanging off one shoulder. Her freckles are no longer in such stark contrast against her fair skin. He knows she has to be naked under her robe, but shuts down the thought quickly as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.

They stare at each other for a full minute, the silence bearing down heavily on them.

Harvey inhales slowly as he tries to decide which situation they should address first. It doesn't help that the hours between post show drinks at Drai's and stumbling through the door to their suite are a complete blank. What followed is still mostly sketchy too, but if his recall is anything to go by, neither of them had any regrets at the time. This morning that doesn't seem to be the case anymore, and an all too familiar fear grips him.

"Donna," he starts, and that's apparently the catalyst she needed.

"We have to find the guy who did this and tell him we didn't mean it."

He sighs and shakes his head. "You know it doesn't work that way. Besides, we can't even remember what the guy looks like, or were we actually got –"

"How did we let this happen?" She starts pacing, gesturing wildly. "And shouldn't there be some kind of law against letting people get…do _that_ when they are clearly drunk out of their minds?"

"Donna, it's not a big deal."

She stops in her tracks and spins around, gaping at him, one hand still half-hanging in the air. It was clearly the wrong thing to say, but he hasn't had much practice with this side of her. The only other time he's seen her this unravelled, it ended with her telling him that perhaps he shouldn't be her boss anymore. Those words ring in his ears again, making his heart beat a little faster.

"What I mean," he says, "is that this is a legal issue. I can fix it."

He holds his breath as he watches her consider his words, her lips pursed as she thinks it over. Then her arms drop to her side as the tension leaves her shoulders.

"Of course. You will take care of it. We'll go back to New York, file for an annulment, and it would be as if this never…" She trails off, frowning when her gaze lands on his hands. Only then does he realize he's been subconsciously twisting the wedding band around his finger. He clasps his fingers together again and looks up at her. "…happened," she adds, almost inaudibly, tearing her eyes away from him. She spots the clothes on the chair and grabs them. "We should get ready. Rachel and Mike will be here soon and they can't see us like this. And we are not telling them, or anyone else. You'll just…make this go away quietly. Right?"

He nods slowly when she ventures a glance in his direction. Family law isn't his area of expertise, but the law in general is, and he's sure, with a bit of research, he'd be able to figure out what paperwork to file.

"Okay, good." Donna starts to head for the door, but he calls her back.

"I have a condition."

She turns around slowly, eyeing him warily. "What kind of condition?"

He debates with himself on whether or not to let that particular issue slide, but he can't risk leaving any loose ends that can come back to bite him in the ass. Swallowing down the nerves that threaten to overwhelm him, Harvey tilts his head towards the tousled sheets.

Donna takes an instinctive step back, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline.

"You want breakup sex?"

His head shoots up. "What? No!"

She flinches, either still suffering some after effects of their eventful night, or taking his response as a rejection. He wants to tell her that that is the furthest thing from the truth, but he has already failed to keep himself in check earlier. He can argue circles around opposing council, pick up any woman who strikes his fancy with the Specter charm, and negotiate his way out of a lose-lose situation, but when it gets personal with Donna, he always seems to find himself out of his depth and following her lead. As that is not an option now, he decides to rely on their tried and trusted fall-back.

"Technically it would be annulment sex." His quip renders her speechless for a moment and he takes the opportunity to cut straight to the point. "We slept together last night."

"We don't have to talk about it."

The words fall from her lips too quickly for him to be fully convinced that she means it.

"Are you sure? Because you said if it ever happened again, you'd no longer work for me, and I don't want to lose you."

Her expression softens when she realizes what he's getting at. "You're not going to lose me, Harvey. It was a one-time thing. We can still work together, as long as we –"

"Put it out of our minds and never mention it again." He's familiar with the loophole in her rule. It wouldn't bother him so much if she hadn't changed her policy not too long ago – for someone else, but given how that turned out, he's not surprised that she's reinforcing it.

"We don't remember most of it anyway," she says.

"So, we're okay?"

She nods. "We're okay."

* * *

Harvey scans through the finance section of the New York Times, but after rereading the same paragraph for the fourth time without taking in a word of it, he folds the paper and tosses it on the coffee table. He glances over his shoulder at Donna's bedroom door, which is still shut. Though they've reached an agreement over the unexpected turn of events they were faced with when they woke up, he still can't shake the feeling that he's missing something. Turning back, he rubs his hands down his face, pausing when his eye catches a glint. He pulls the ring off, weighing it in the palm of his hand. Then it hits him full force.

He is married.

To Donna.

His best friend, his confidante, his secretary, is now also his _wife_ _,_ albeit for the time being, and in name only, and he's not sure how he feels about any of that. He is so used to putting his feelings for her in a box, but it's gotten harder to keep a lid on it since she told him about her and Stephen, to the point where he actually tracked her down and told her it bothered him.

"Rachel texted. They're on their way."

He almost jumps when she speaks behind him, and curls his fingers around the ring, hoping she didn't spot it. "They can't just take the elevator up and knock like normal people?"

Rounding the couch, Donna is about to say something, but three raps on the door diverts her attention.

"That was a waste of a text." Harvey rises, slipping his fist into his pants pocket, and lets go of the ring.

With a hand on the doorknob, Donna looks over at him. "Not a word," she mouths.

He nods, taking a step closer when the door swings open. Mike has an arm securely around Rachel's waist as his eyes dart from Donna to Harvey. Then a grin practically splits his face in two.

"Look, Rach," he says, "it's the honeymooners."

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 1

**DON** **'** **T CALL ME BABY (UNLESS YOU MEAN IT)**

 **A/N:** ICYMI – Harvey and Donna got drunk and married. Mike and Rachel know. There, all caught up.

It's been way too long. So long that AK beat me to Darvey. :P But I do hope that you still enjoy this throwback to season 3.

Thank you, **michaelfmx** , for stepping in to beta this chapter, even before you've seen a single episode of the show. He's catching up though. All your advice is greatly appreciated.

Another huge thank you goes to **Spectographer** for beta'ing this as well. I'm happy to announce that she has officially taken over as beta for this story. Thank you, Kelly, for endlessly encouraging me to write, for all your lovely comments, for supplying OC names at the drop of a hat, and for being generally awesome.

Unfortunately I didn't get the time to reply to all the amazing reviews you guys left on the last chapter, but please know that I appreciate and cherish every single one.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Suits.

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 **Timeline:** Takes place during Bad Faith.

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1**

Armed with a double shot espresso and a larger cup containing a grocery list of ingredients, Harvey steps off the elevator on the fiftieth floor. He glances over to his right, as if to make sure that no one has removed his name over the weekend. 'Darby' is still flanked by the only two names that belong up there, but he's confident that it will soon come down the same way Hardman's had. He remembers the sense of satisfaction he felt when he and Donna personally pried those letters from the wall. Afterwards he invited her for drinks and was taken aback when she declined. She promised him a rain check, one she's yet to make good on, but given the consequences of their last celebration, he doubts he'll remind her of that anytime soon, especially not after the news he's about to give her. All he wanted to do was take her mind off Stephen for a couple of days, which is why he suggested the weekend getaway for Mike's birthday in the first place. If he'd known how that would turn out, he would have taken her for breakfast instead, and bought her a new handbag or two. A trip to Nougatine's and Hermes would not have landed them in the predicament they find themselves in now.

As ready as he'll ever be to bite the bullet, Harvey makes his way down the hall. When he rounds the last bend, relief washes over him at the sight of familiar red hair visible above the cubicle wall outside his office. Though she assured him that they were fine, she was too quiet for his liking during the flight back, and it had him worried that perhaps she was rethinking some things.

Donna, for once, doesn't notice him until he towers over her. Her nose wiggles when she catches a whiff of his offering and she tilts her head to look up at him. Surprise, then suspicion, cross her face as she lifts a hand from her keyboard and waves a finger between the two takeout cups.

"This is new."

"It's for Mike."

"Mike doesn't like triple whip double fat extra shot mocha lattes with caramel." She pushes her chair back and rises gracefully, plucking the cup out of the holder. "And we don't like Mike."

He follows her into his office, secretly pleased that he got the order right, and closes the door. "How do we feel about Rachel this morning?"

"Friends don't let friends marry drunk and then refuse to tell them how it happened."

It's frustrating him too, but the couple have remained tight lipped since Donna uttered the word 'annulment' over a plate of scrambled eggs with black truffles, and the looks Mike and Rachel exchanged convinced him to not press the issue just yet. Knowing Donna, she'll be back on speaking terms with Rachel by lunchtime anyway, and it's always fun to watch her make Mike squirm whenever he gets on her bad side.

Harvey heads for the couch, belatedly realizing that Donna has taken one of the visitor's chairs. Changing course, he opts for leaning against the window ledge to her right, placing his coffee down beside him. She glances over her shoulder, then stretches forward to switch off the intercom. The high neckline of her blue-green dress doesn't offer him so much as a glimpse of what is hidden beneath – an intentional wardrobe choice on her part, he's sure. It's irrelevant, really. He may not have Mike's memory, but there are some things he doesn't forget, despite the promise he made the day before, and ten years ago. She straightens and takes a long sip of her coffee, inadvertently drawing his attention to her mouth, shaded in a more demure tint than her usual vibrant red. His eyes trace down the pale column of her throat when she swallows, his own bobbing in response.

 _Her skin is smooth against his lips, radiating a warmth that heats him to his core. A low sigh escapes her, her breath drifting over his temple as he traces a path along her clavicle, savoring the hints of honey and vanilla that linger on his tongue. He doubles back with_ _open mouthed_ _kisses, tasting and teasing a pattern between the freckles scattered across her exposed shoulder until his nose nuzzles into her neck, then nips at the pulse point that lays there. A groan rises from somewhere deep inside him when he feels her start to tremble under his palms. His grip on her hips tightens, the fabric of her dress bunching_ _between his fingers as he pulls her even closer, enjoying the way her soft curves mold against his solid frame._

"How hard is it?"

Donna's voice brings him back to the present and he drags his eyes back to her face, blinking at the question.

Her gaze darts to his lap. "You're playing with your balls."

Following her line of sight, he notices the basketball clasped in his hands. Then he spots Ewing's signature and curses under his breath as he pops his clammy palms away from the leather and, holding the ball delicately between his fingers, he places it back on the display stand, taking his time to arrange it perfectly.

"Just tell me, Harvey," she says when the silence stretches too long.

With a slow exhale, he grabs his coffee and moves to his desk, reclining in his chair and crossing an ankle over his knee in an attempt to appear casual. Her presence has never unnerved him before, but that's because he usually has the good sense to not look at her _that_ way whenever she's in the vicinity. She's too observant to risk it, and with that in mind, he forces his focus back to the issue at hand.

"It's not just a matter of submitting paperwork."

"We need to go to court?"

He nods. "One of us has to file a motion, we'll both need representation, and there will be a hearing. Then it's up to the judge to decide whether or not to grant the annulment, based on the evidence presented to prove grounds."

"What kind of evidence?" Donna asks. "Our bar tab?"

"That won't carry much weight, but we do have witness testimony."

"Mike and Rachel."

Harvey nods again, glancing at her fingers as she fiddles with the edge of the paper cup half-balanced against her thigh. He wonders if she even realizes she has a tell – that the way she fidgets with her hands betrays her in those moments when she doesn't feel as self-assured as she makes everyone think she is. And he sometimes wonders if he's the only one who knows that about her.

"How long will it take?" Donna asks.

It's the question he's been dreading, and he feels a twinge of guilt in his gut. He promised her that he'd take care of everything, but after spending a good portion of the night and early morning reading up, he came to the conclusion that there were no easy fixes, and limited options.

"Provided we're successful, two to six months. The alternative is to file for a no-fault divorce."

She regards him for a moment, lips pursed, then shakes her head. "No offense, Harvey, but I don't want to explain to my future husband how my first marriage was the world's worst hangover."

 _Future husband._ The words leave a sudden bitterness at the back of his throat and he tries to swallow it down with his slightly sweetened brew.

"So," Donna says, "I guess we need to tell Jessica."

He almost does a spit take, not expecting the suggestion, given her initial insistence on secrecy. "Why?"

"Because my current lawyer has a conflict of interest, Rachel isn't qualified yet, and Louis can't keep a secret if his cat's life depended on it. Besides, letting her in on this will go a long way in regaining her trust after conspiring with Darby behind her back."

He knows she has a point, but before he can acknowledge the fact, Donna is out of her chair and opening the door for a messenger he somehow missed lingering outside his office. Uncrossing his legs, he sits up straight and rolls himself towards his desk, while she signs the clipboard before dismissing the pimply teen with a flick of her wrist.

"You can't afford Jessica," he says when she makes her way back to him.

"You will be paying for her, seeing as you'll make Mike work for free."

Instead of arguing, Harvey just grins. He was planning on covering the legal bills anyway, and he doesn't mind that she called dibs on the more experienced lawyer.

"It's a pity this is going to be so amicable and discreet," he says. "People will pay good money to see Mike and Jessica go head-to-head."

"Don't start taking bets yet." She hands him the envelope. "Courtesy of Edward Darby."

Harvey slides the documents out and runs his eyes over the first page. With every sentence he reads, his jaw clenches tighter. "This is bullshit."

"What is it?"

"The proposed formula for splitting the assets."

He's on his feet in a second, and almost out the door the next, before halting and swinging back, torn between finishing their conversation and getting the ball rolling on crushing Darby, but she pre-empts him in her Donna-way.

"Go," she says before he can speak.

"But –"

She cuts him short with a pointed look. "Go. We'll continue this later." Without waiting for a response, she turns to grab her cup from his desk, either assuming he's leaving, or giving him the opportunity to do so.

Still, he hesitates. "Would you like to get dinner?"

"Seeing as we're probably in for a late night, I'll order from that Thai place you pretend you don't like."

It's not exactly what he had in mind, but he's not even sure why he asked, so he decides not to push it. The only things he knows for certain is that Edward Darby is trying to screw them over, and that the food from that Thai restaurant is tolerable, at best.

"Sounds good," he says.

* * *

Donna watches Harvey until he disappears into Jessica's office before ducking down behind the safety of her cubicle walls. Only then does she exhale slowly through pouted lips, silently thanking every acting class she ever attended. And yoga, as an afterthought.

The repercussions of what she had done, what _they_ had done, didn't fully sink in until somewhere over Colorado. She spent the flight, and half the night, trying to convince herself that there was no reason to freak out, reminding herself that she had faith in Harvey, but the second she saw him – the dimple in his tie too far to the left and the spot he missed shaving – any hope she had that they could resolve the situation quickly and put it behind them, was dashed.

Perhaps she shouldn't have been so hasty to dismiss the divorce idea, but even on second thought she knows she doesn't want it on record that she was dumb enough to marry her boss. Not when she's still the hot topic around the watercooler. It's not every day that someone's former lover turns out to be a murderer, but it's the speculation about why exactly Harvey beat the shit out of Stephen that has everyone's imaginations running wild. If word gets out that she married Harvey, drunk or not, less than a week after dumping Stephen, she may never live the humiliation down.

She should never have broken her rule.

But it's not the potential gossip that has her tied up in knots. People are going to think what they're going to think. Her most pressing concern is Mike and Rachel's silence. It doesn't take a mind reader to know that they're hiding something big, and being in the dark about what it is, there's no way she can get ahead of the situation. She needs to be prepared for what Harvey might remember, because if all it took was a couple of glasses of champagne to let slip the feelings she's held onto too tightly for far too long…

Unable to even finish the thought, she drops her face in her hands, cursing herself for not making more of an effort to get over him years ago. It would've been the sensible thing to do. She knows how the world works. Lawyers don't chase secretaries, they end up with other lawyers. Harvey is destined to be with someone like Scottie or Zoe. She's not a self-deluding fool, and she has no intention of risking the job she loves and a friendship she cherishes on a 'what if'.

Taking another deep breath, Donna lifts her head and squares her shoulders. It doesn't matter, she tells herself. She can count on Rachel's discretion, and if Mike were to let something slip to Harvey, he'll never bring it up with her. Ophelia has a better chance of winning Olympic gold in the backstroke than Harvey Specter confronting a feeling. They'll handle the annulment like any other case, she'll ensure that Mike and Rachel's testimony is nothing more than a confirmation that they had no intention to do what they did, and Harvey's lingering gazes will stop once he learns that Scottie is back in town.

Satisfied that she is back in control of things, Donna pulls the keyboard closer to start collating the client information Harvey would need for the dissolution of the merger, effectively silencing the little voice in the back of her head asking why she neglected to mention that particular fact to Harvey earlier.

Barely half a page in, two hands slam down on her cubicle wall, making her head snap up. She swallows the groan threatening to spill.

The frown, the clenched jaw, and the heightened color of Louis's complexion scream run-in-with-Harvey. She's mildly annoyed, and oddly impressed, that he managed to do that in the two minutes since he left his office.

"You think I'm a joke too, don't you?"

Donna shakes her head, not sure where the accusation is coming from. She opens her mouth to ask, but isn't given the opportunity.

"The text I sent you Saturday night? You didn't even bother to reply."

That explains some of it, seeing as most of that particular night is still a blank, but she needs more to go on.

"Louis, what are you talking about?"

He takes a step back, throwing his arms in the air. "Goddammit, Donna! I can't believe that you'd just..." Looking about himself for moment, he huffs and closes in on her again, leaning so far into her cubicle she's afraid he may topple head first onto her desk. She discreetly moves her penholder off to the side as he bulldozes on.

"I didn't expect that from you, of all people. And for the record, not inviting me, hurt. Everyone knows Vegas is the best place to get someone drunk and drag them off to the nearest ordained Elvis impersonator for a quickie 'I do'. Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am." His palms come down hard again, causing her whole cubicle to rattle, before he pushes himself off the divider and spins on his heel.

Jesus, she thinks, the news can't possibly have spread yet.

"Louis, I don't know what you've heard…" She trails off when she realizes he's out of earshot already, and that she has no idea how she was going to finish that sentence. It's unnerving to be Donna and to not know everything that's going on. Then she remembers the message he mentioned and picks up her phone, pressing the home button to unlock the screen.

" _Mike dances like a monkey."_

 _Donna follows Harvey's line of sight and she has to admit – the young associate isn't exactly the king of_ _rhythm. His long limbs aren't doing him any favors either. At least he's having a great time, and Rachel doesn't seem to mind him hopping around her, completely out of tune to what the DJ thinks passes for music. They all need this, though – a night to just cut loose and have some fun._

" _You don't have to tell him that," she says._

" _Five seconds of annoyance is not what I'm going for. He'll just retaliate with another lame barb about my age."_

" _Those are getting old." The dig she has prepared to follow up with on the pup's behalf,_ _dies on her tongue when Harvey's thumb traces lightly over the curve of her bare shoulder. She pretends not to notice, just like she pretended not to notice_ _when he casually draped his arm across the back of the booth when they first sat down. He's been extra attentive since he showed up at her apartment to give her a ride to the airport, and she's sure it's borne from pity, which is the last thing she wants from him. Instead of addressing it, she tips her champagne flute, emptying the contents in an effort to drown the butterflies low in her belly._

 _Harvey catches their waiter's attention and requests another bottle of Dom Perignon for the table and a Jack Daniels "Sinatra" for himself, this time without complaint that the club doesn't stock his scotch of choice. She assumes it stopped mattering somewhere between the third and the fourth round._

" _You know what I'm thinking?" he asks when they're alone again._

 _She gives him the side-eye. "We really shouldn't." But she's already a step ahead, dipping a hand into her purse to retrieve her phone. She swipes across the screen,_ _taps on the camera icon_ _and hits the record button before turning the lens inconspicuously towards the dancefloor._

" _Don't be obvious." The comment earns him an elbow in the ribs._

" _Please," Donna says, refocusing her aim, "I'm me."_

 _He smirks and a comfortable silence settles between them as they watch the young couple._

 _The server returns with their order, slides a tumbler onto the table, followed by an ice bucket, and then disappears back into the crowd. Harvey pops the cork and leans over to refill her glass. Sandalwood and citrus, with notes of an exotic spice she can't quite place, invade her senses, the combination making her a little lightheaded._

" _When did you change your aftershave?"_ _She curses the breathiness of her tone when his hand freezes mid-pour._

" _I'm trying something new." His gaze lifts to hers before he finishes topping off her drink and blindly slipping the bottle back into the ice when their eyes meet and hold. "Do you like it?"_

 _The low timber of his voice vibrates through her, the question itself causing her heart to kick hard against her ribs. They flirt all the time, but never in such intimate proximity. They both know better. She wills him to move back to his end of the bench, to give her room to take a breath and collect herself, but then she feels his fingertips brush against her skin again and she can only watch helplessly as he wets his lips._

 _She forgets all about the potential blackmail material she's gathering on Mike, until the phone chirps in her hand, signaling an incoming message._

"…wasn't above board when we got married. Why should we be above board when we're getting divorced?"

Reality filters back in when Harvey's voice reaches her before he appears around the corner with Mike in tow. For a second she thinks they're discussing her and Harvey's personal problem, very publicly, but then they're talking about stealing clients and shifting attorneys of record as they enter the corner office. Harvey throws a glance Donna's way, and with the recent memory still fresh in her mind, and the phone in her hand forgotten, she fights the heat she feels crawling up her neck. She watches the men from the corner of her eye, and when they are fully engrossed in tossing ideas around, she quickly locks her computer and slips out of her cubicle with a stack of papers that may or may not need copying.

* * *

"Get it going," Harvey tells Mike as he settles in behind his desk, ready to start working on his strategy to convince Samsung to switch council.

"Yeah." Mike starts to leave, but halfway to the door he stops and turns. "Wait," he says, "do you actually watch the Miss America Pageant?"

"No." A sly glance past his associate confirms that Donna hasn't returned from the file room yet. "But I've celebrated with the winner."

"Texas? Florida? New York?"

"California." The sense of satisfaction he usually gets from bringing up that particular night never comes, and he tries hard not to dwell on the fact that he suddenly can't recall her name, or picture her face.

"Now, there's a question you didn't want to avoid." Mike turns up the smugness when he leans slightly forward and lowers his voice. "It's cute how you first checked if your wife was listening in before you answered."

"She's right behind you, actually."

Mike's head does a near one eighty as he checks his surroundings, and Harvey thinks a little whiplash would be justified payback for the jibe. Once Mike has established that the coast was clear all along, he glares down at his mentor.

"That was not funny."

"I'm glad you realize that too." Harvey turns his attention back to the screen in front of him, confident that the younger lawyer has picked up on what he actually meant. "Now, get to work."

With a small nod, Mike makes himself scarce, but his words linger, leaving Harvey cursing under his breath as his heart beats a staccato rhythm, as if keeping time with every echo in his mind.

Your wife. Your wife. Your wife.

" _Bedroom's the other way," Donna mumbles against his lips._

" _I'm aware." Their mouths fuse again in a bruising kiss, only to part abruptly when she bumps into the couch. "You okay?"_

" _Fine."_

 _She tugs him along by his beltloops, navigating them around pieces of furniture as he sweeps her hair over her shoulder, his lips following the delicate line of her jaw to the spot behind her ear. One hand lets go of his pants and her fingertips crawl up his bare chest, leaving sparks of electricity over every inch of skin she touches. When she grazes over a nipple, it's unexpected, and he bites down involuntarily._ _The sound she makes, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, shoots straight to his groin. For a moment he seriously considers taking her up on her earlier direction, but first he has a fantasy to fulfil, or as close as he could get to doing just that, given that this is not his office, and they are not heading towards his desk. He soothes the abused patch of skin with his tongue, opening one eye to track their progress. Steering her backwards, they take a couple of steps until her ass hits the piano keys._

 _Disjointed notes reverberate through the room._

 _Harvey pulls away, but keeps a firm grip low on her hips as he sinks down onto the piano bench. He takes her in, letting his eyes roam over the taut stomach, her breasts, barely contained by strapless lace, to her flaming hair that falls wildly around her flushed face._

" _What are you doing?" Her sultry tone, combined with the short fingernails raking through the hair in the back of his neck, directs his focus to just how tight his pants are stretched._

" _I thought you played?"_

" _It's been years."_

" _You're still very talented, Mrs. Specter." He leans in and presses his lips just below her navel, teasing her sensitive underbelly. Her fingers dig into his shoulder and he's sure her nails are marking him as hers, and he'll be damned if that doesn't turn him on even more._

" _And you're still an idiot, Mr. Paulsen."_

 _His chuckle is muffled against her skin. He's amazed, and a little disappointed, that she managed to keep her wits about her – something he plans to rectify immediately. He stands, and before she realizes what's happening, he lifts her bridal style and deposits her gently onto the piano lid. Her knees part and he settles between her thighs, guiding her down over his arm supporting her arched back, until her head touches the mahogany. His palm traces a path over her cleavage, down the valley of her breasts, lingering over her erratic heartbeat that matches his._

" _That's not going to work," he says. "Specter's already on the wall."_

" _Then I'll just tell people it's my name up there."_

 _Harvey smirks as he thrusts against her. "You talk too much."_

"I cleared your schedule for the rest of the day. Rachel will handle George Hammond's deposition, Judge Randle has agreed to postpone Derek Wilbur's suit until Thursday, Clark Grayson will reschedule when he's back from his Tokyo trip and Marcus Finch is happy for Wilson to step in on the merger negotiations."

Harvey shifts in his seat, wondering exactly how transparent his glass desktop is, and how the hell he's going to be around Donna in the office without his mind going _there_ every time he sees her, or someone mentions her name. He clears his throat, keeping his eyes fixed on her face, and grabs the first work-related thing he can think of. "Wilson is a divorce lawyer."

"Not Davis. Jenna. She can handle it."

"How did you manage all that when you weren't even at your desk?"

"Technology." Donna waves the phone clutched in her left hand. "You better get a move on. Darby already has a representative on the way."

"Goddammit." He pushes away from his desk, but catches himself before the instinct to rush out of the office takes over. "Will you please call Ray?"

"He's already downstairs." To Harvey's relief Donna turns to leave. Then she pauses halfway out the door, shooting him a curious look. "Since when do you say please?"

* * *

Rearranging Harvey's appointments for the rest of the week, placating difficult clients, and convincing a couple of already overworked lawyers to take on extra cases, didn't leave Donna with much time to contemplate his strange behavior. After completely ignoring her almost sincere question, he rushed past her, jacket in hand, without so much as a 'see you later'. With his calendar finally cleared, she grabs the stack of duplicate documents she has no use for and feeds the papers systematically through the shredder, silently vowing to join Norma on Arbor Day to plant a tree.

"Donna. My office. Now."

Harvey's face is a thunder cloud when he storms into his office. She's immediately on her feet, following.

"What happened?" she asks as she closes the glass door behind her.

"Scottie, Louis, and a goddamn cat." Without further explanation, Harvey pours himself a glass of water and downs it in a few gulps. It's obvious that he'd prefer something stronger, but it's still too early in the day.

"What did Louis do?" She already has her suspicions, but for some reason she can't bring herself to ask about Scottie.

"He had one goddamn job and he fucked it up." Harvey slams the glass down on his desk.

Donna winces. "He locked in the client list. Did he say why?"

"He lost his shit because British Louis wouldn't read the letters American Louis wrote to British Louis's cat to said cat."

"What?"

"I'm not repeating that."

"You mean Nigel."

"It doesn't matter." Harvey starts pacing, rubbing his forehead as if to thwart off a headache, but she knows he's searching for a solution to their current predicament, and most likely tripping himself up with all the other issues swimming around in his mind.

"I'll call Mike," she says. "Maybe there's a way to revise the agreement –"

"You should've warned me."

Harvey stops abruptly, less than three feet away from her, and she has to tilt a head back a little to meet his eyes.

"Warned you about what?" she asks.

"I was left standing on Samsung's porch with my dick in my hand. In front of Scottie. Why didn't you tell me she was back in New York? And don't tell me you didn't know."

His dark stare is fixated on her face, the anger still rolling off of him in waves, but she stands her ground. "I didn't know Darby was going to send her specifically."

"That's not what I asked, Donna." He has her there and she's not sure how to answer him when she has a couple of questions of her own. Which isn't any of her business, really.

"I'll get Mike," she says. Harvey opens his mouth, but she cuts in before he gets a chance to speak. "Don't let Scottie distract you. Sending Nigel in might have worked to get the upper hand on Louis, but you're better than that."

Harvey considers her words for a moment, then visibly deflates. "Nothing is going to happen with Scottie. I've made that perfectly clear."

The resolution in his tone makes her heart kick hard against her ribs, and for a second she can't help but wonder about his motives. Yes, Scottie screwed him over in the past, but he always goes back for more. She gives herself a little shake. That's all it is, she tells herself, Harvey has finally learned his lesson. Nothing more.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading.


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